cr: Ravi Est Belle // DO NOT EDIT
it scares me that you never know what someone is thinking or feeling towards you and everything that they say could be one massive lie
Saying autistic people are broken because they aren’t allistic is like saying cats are broken because they aren’t dogs.
He told me after the first date that he had Asperger’s.
He was always dropping plates; he’d spilled wine in my lap
so we had to leave the restaurant early.
Instead of putting my hands up, a white flag, surrendering
and saying Oh god, look at the time, I’d better go,
I set up a signal fire in my backyard to let him know
that it didn’t matter to me.
Sometimes the skyline seemed so far away
that he’d stand outside on the roof of our New York City apartment
as close to the edge as he could get, just to see
if he could touch the stars.
I held on to the back of his shirt.
Sometimes I came home from a long day at work;
I just wanted a fucking cheeseburger and some fries
and someone to rub my back, but he didn’t know what to do
when I was upset. He’d stand there, arms at his sides,
the color of his confusion seeping through his cotton t-shirt
like paint. I know you’re sad, he’d say, but I don’t know what to do.
That’s okay, I’d say.
You don’t have to.
During winter we threw snowball fights, built igloos,
drank hot chocolate. When we went to cocktail parties
I practically had to drag him out of the house.
Then I learned how hard it was for him to even
walk down the driveway to the mailbox.
We made a compromise: for every step he took from the front door,
every damn step, I kissed him.
Sometimes he cheated and took a few baby steps
just to get a few more kisses.
I obliged willingly.
After the 47th date, in the bathtub, he lit candles
and placed them all around the bathmat. There were rose petals
floating in the water like lily pads.
You know, I have Asperger’s, he told me,
wrapping his arms around my waist.
Do you still want me?
Every time, I said.
Texture issues and being a ‘picky eater’ are not the same thing. When a food makes me gag, I am not just being ‘fussy’. When a food makes me want to cry because the texture is so abhorrent to me, I’m not being ‘dramatic’. Food issues that come with autism and sensory disorders are not the same as disliking pumpkin soup or not enjoying the taste of tomatoes. I can love the taste of a food but not stand the texture. I can love a food one day and not be able to eat it the next. I know you’re just trying to relate to us but it’s not the same thing, it’s a lot worse.
With you tonight, right now
Looking at the stars together
I’m happier than anyone else